Hearts
by Kiyuzanova
Summary: It's been six days and one week. One week and six days—almost two weeks since that time. / Teaserviceshipping/Accidentshipping.


Just a little headcanon: Tron family have like nothing to eat because V can't cook, don't you ever let IV into the kitchen (he got his cooking skills from his father so we all know how Byron gets along) and III makes the weirdest food combinations that taste alright at first but mysteriously makes people sick a day later... and not from food poisoning.

Experimental fic is experimental. Apologies on the length; it looked longer on paper. :)

Edit 27/06: Shark's sister's name has been replaced with her canon one!

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It's been six days and one week. One week and six days—almost two weeks since that time. Ever since, you've locked yourself in your room. Whenever there is knocking, you refuse to let them enter. No matter who it was.

Your father did come by once, merely to ask if you were well. As if you hadn't locked yourself away for a week, for six days and seven hours. As if your only means of obtaining food didn't come through the window each night, delivered by your youngest brother.

You said you were okay. Your father wouldn't understand otherwise.

_Rio._

It had started as a joke. From when you were younger, far too many years ago, still filled with big dreams and grand aspirations. You would become famous one day – the Asian Champion himself – and when you were, you would grant your fans gifts they would never imagine in their wildest dreams. Your fanservice.

You'd forgotten. Maybe you didn't know. Nothing in this world is free.

Because father left. Because you were left with me.

I reach up, careful not to disturb the plates in the basket hanging off my other arm. I knock on the windowsill. Once, twice, then thrice in quick succession. A secret, identifying code, developed by two young children in an orphanage surrounded by dozens they never knew.

It takes some time before you open the window, and the night chill creeps through my clothes to patter at my skin. When you do, you reach down and receive the basket as you usually do. But when you make to close the window, you falter, surprised by the arm in the way.

There is a moment where you contemplate slamming the window shut anyway. I can see it in your eyes.

Yet you know that since father disappeared, I am the reason you remain sane. Even as you saw the dark side of the world and taught yourself that there is no light. Even after both father and V returned for us. I was the only person there for you.

You were the only person there for me.

You take out the remains of our dinner, ignoring the person climbing through the window. You don't complain about the charred carrots or the stringy mess of dry chicken, scarfing it down, knowing it could be yet another long while before being left any food to eat again. It's a far cry from the feasts you used to consume. You know you will never see them again.

With every bite, your eyes trail to the deck sitting on the marbled glass counter. You think of the day almost two weeks ago. You've spent the past thirteen days paying silent vigil to those cards, to the deck holding the card father gave you a week and six days ago.

The card you used against Kamishiro Rio.

You are no longer yourself since then. The bandages are still wrapped around your face, hiding your scar away. You can't see them; all the mirrors in your room are broken. Bruises have formed upon your right hand. You smashed them one week ago.

You loved her.

(_—perhaps it wasn't love, perhaps it was only guilt and shame and regret because fanservice was supposed to be a joke, it wasn't intended as something to cause permanent harm—_)

You love her.

You finish eating and begin to pack everything away. I get up from where I've been sitting and stop you. I take over. There is only silence as the plates are arranged so they are stable, so that nothing can break or shatter or anything at all.

Your eyes meet mine just as I'm turning away. Wordless thanks—thanks that I am the only person there for you. Father and V are too busy hating Dr. Faker for his sins.

I open the window and drop the basket to the grass below. I look back; you have returned to your vigil, cross-legged and head bowed. Why do you do it? Is it from love, or from duty, or from whatever emotion tied the two of you together?

I jump out and land without a sound. You are always there for those who need it, I know.

One day, I hope, you will be there when you know how I need you.

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((As I've never written this type of story before, any feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!))


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